From the Ashes
by Sabine Hawks
Summary: After Troy has fallen, Paris must lead the remainder of his people to safety but the group encounters unforeseen obstacles along the way. Old loves are challenged and new loves emerge. All major charactersOriginal characters
1. Default Chapter

  
  
Author: Sabine Hawks & Alma Aciginada   
Rating: R   
Characters: All of the major characters left alive at the end of the film and a few new ones.   
Feedback: Yes, please!   
  
(1)  
Paris did not dare look behind him. The smell of ashen wood and burning flesh permeated the night air. He had no time to think about it. His feet felt like dead weights as he dragged them along the cave leading to the mouth of the cove. He tried to move the others along. There were women crying, children screaming, and he noticed he was the only man of his age amongst them aside from Aeneas. The others, men so old and boys so young that they needed to be carried, made up the rest of the party while the ones his age remained behind fighting Agamemnon's army to the death. He wondered how far they would get without Achilles to lead them, but then, he thought, they penetrated the walls of Troy without their prized warrior.   
  
He cursed himself for not having taken matters into his own hands. Were Hector still alive, he would have pushed Agamemnon's army back across the borders, he would have shown little mercy for his enemies. But no, that's not how it would have been, said the little voice inside Paris' head. Hector would have opened his arms to a foreign army, Hector would have shown the utmost respect for their king. No, it was not his elder brother that Paris imagined; it was himself, himself as he wished to be. He would no longer be his brother's shadow, but rather Hector's shadow would walk beside him. A scream alerted Paris to his senses.   
  
"The ships have been set aflame, my lord!" screamed Andromache. As he rounded the corner to face the ocean, he saw his sister-in-law standing awestruck before an inferno of burning battle ships in the distance. His father's vessels swayed helplessly side to side atop the rough Aegean Sea like nothing more than toys in a child's bath. "Where shall we go?"   
  
His nephew Scamandrius held on to his mother's bosom, fast asleep, unaware of the turmoil being unleashed around him. Andromache's eyes looked dark, her irises drowned by hopelessness.   
  
Paris turned his head instinctively, but there was no Hector beside him, no Priam. He was on his own. He had asked Aeneas to lead his people, but had returned after collecting his cousin. Just like a coward to turn his back on his people. One kill would not suffice. It would not make him a suitable replacement heir. Not that there was a throne to return to.   
  
Several pairs of frightened eyes looked to him for an answer. He had none. He looked around him, waiting for the Gods to signal him to some sheltered corner. Surely there had to be something left of Troy, but he knew the Spartans would leave nothing standing. He fought back the urge to weep and in that moment found some strength.   
  
"If you are able, we shall head towards the Falls," he said. His voice sounded foreign to him. He felt it was his brother's voice speaking through him.   
  
"But the Falls are perilous," said Briseis. He had nearly forgotten about his cousin since he'd rescued her. She seemed sad and small beside him, like a wounded fawn.   
  
"I know them well. Hector and I spent much time there as children. The Spartans won't dare lead their horses there lest they wish to meet their deaths." Many had met an untimely death at the Great Falls of Leones. In an otherwise flat land, the Falls appeared suddenly over the horizon and dipped into a bottomless canyon. Anyone riding fast and furious was certain to fall over. Hector had shown Paris the paths leading through the Falls, paths that had served as escape routes for the Trojans in the centuries before his time. There was no telling what condition they were now in, but it was their only hope.   
  
"Lead us, my lord," said Andromache, a proud smile upon her face as she recognized her deceased husbands will.   
  
Victory. Even now, leagues and leagues out at sea, Eudorus could see Troy burning. The smoke was still rising thickly in the morning after the final siege and the wind was blowing the heavy, charred scent out over the water. He wondered where Achilles was now, how many men were still falling from his blade and how many were yet to be slain. He wondered too what Agamemnon would do to the royal family once they were found in the upper palace–-surely they would be killed or perhaps taken prisoner and brought back to Greece. How could Achilles manage to save Briseis again from Agamemnon's pride and wrath?   
  
Eudorus felt a pang of bitterness. Just like Achilles to send the Mermidans home before the final battle took place. He and the remainder of his men would never know the glory that Achilles found now, they would not stand inside the walls of Troy and watch the city burn to ash. Perhaps it was better this way–-no more men had been killed for the greed of the king, already Patroclus and numerous other fine warriors had been sacrificed for Agamemnon's vision, Achilles was right to ensure no more would die for a tainted dream.   
  
There would be one more stop before they turned their sails for home-–they needed food and supplies for ship repairs and the nearest port was down the coast from Troy. Eudorus was eager to hear the tales of the men that had breeched the walls of the city and he meant to tarry in town, waiting for whatever heroes stopped there before sailing for Greece. He wanted desperately to speak with Odysseus, for there was a good chance he knew of Achilles or would even bear him on his ship. Not only did he wish to speak with Achilles, he also craved a hot bath and the company of a woman; his men had wives and families to return to, he had no such welcome to look forward to.   
  
"Captain!"   
  
Eudorus spun around, a man rowing was pointing to the east, where a tower of flame and smoke rose from an unseen body of water. He crossed to the side of the ship, squinting into the bright horizon as he tried to estimate the fire's position.   
  
"It could be neighboring villages, or could it be Troy's armada?" a soldier had come to stand beside his captain.   
  
"That is likely, it would not surprise me if Agamemnon thought to find out their ships so that none might escape-–but where are the ships docked?"   
  
"Perhaps a river, they would be wise to conceal their ships somewhere out of our sight."   
  
"Yes, after we reach the port I will take a few men to find where those ships make their birth, it will allow us a few days of rest and a chance to see the Trojan countryside without fear of battle. I doubt there are any Trojan men left to give us trouble...and if we come across their women and children we shall toss them into the sea." 


	2. 2

Author: Sabine Hawks & Alma Aciginada   
Rating: R   
Characters: All of the major characters left alive at the end of the film and a few new ones   
Feedback: Yes, please!   
  
(2)   
Briseis awoke with a clanging in her head. Her mouth was dry and tasted of sea salt. She peeked through strands of her black hair at the sunlight trickling into the cave through eroded holes in the ceiling. Everyone had fallen fast asleep after the harrowing journey through the paths within the mountain range. Andromache slept beside her, baby in arms, looking as beautiful as if she had not endured the horrors she had in the previous weeks. Helen was some feet away, snoring loudly to Briseis' surprise. She wanted nothing more than to see the princess fall into a deep sleep from which she could never awake. All this for Paris' greed, thought Briseis. She expected nothing less of her cousin, but she never expected he would find someone as irresponsible as himself.   
  
A tear stung the corner of Briseis' left eye as she envisioned Hector's body being burned to ashes at the funeral ceremony. Never again would she hear his soothing words or feel his comforting hands in this life. Likewise, she longed to have held Achilles in his last moments before slipping into Elysium.   
  
She wiped away the escaped tear, and lifted her head. The ringing in her ears subsided. She noticed as she looked around at the sleeping figures that Paris was not amongst them. As she rose to her feet she almost lost one as a blade shot out in front of her. Aeneas held the sword of Troy to her ankle. His eyes were fiercely alert. She grinned down at the boy.   
  
"Forgive me, my lady," he whispered.   
  
"You will make a fine soldier one day, boy," Briseis replied. "It is a comfort to have you at our side." Aeneas smiled with gratitude, and returned to sleep as quickly as he had awakened.   
  
Briseis followed the cave floor in the direction of the sound of the falls. The blinding sunlight of Apollo greeted her outside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but once her vision returned she spotted a familiar figure perched atop a nearby rock in front of a stream. As she approached Paris, he didn't even flinch. He looked ahead at nothing in particular, though it seemed he saw everything at once.   
  
"We are not safe yet," he said. Briseis sat beside him, curling up to his warm body. "The Mermidan ship spotted our burning sails. They will likely pillage what is left of them before making their way back to Greece."   
  
"But they will think us dead," Briseis was, at the very least, hopeful.   
  
"Hopefully." Paris sighed. His eyes were red with fatigue. "I'm hoping that the wind blew sand across our tracks." Briseis tightened her grip around her cousin's arm. "Awake the others. We must make it out of Troy's boundaries before nightfall."   
  
"We have no supplies," Briseis warned. "There are children too old to nurse. We…"   
  
"We will go to the outskirts of the Thermodon River."   
  
Briseis stopped short her breath. As a child, her parents told her stories of the people that lived in the area known as Amazonia. Great female warriors said to be descendant of the war god Ares were said to inhabit the river's edge. It was said they were giants in height, cannibals who fed on the flesh of women, rapists of the men who bore their children. She knew Paris was aware of these stories as well, and did not entirely trust his judgement as she had his elder brother's.   
  
"Cousin, you know the stories," she said, her voice as feeble as her will to go there.   
  
"I have," Paris replied with a chuckle. "And after what I have witnessed, a tribe of wanton women will seem child's play."   
  
"But cousin..." she leaned in close to Paris, "they eat women and children." Paris laughed heartily at Briseis' naivete.   
  
"They will eat arrows instead." He embraced her tightly and scooted her away. As Briseis entered the cave, she was met with many eyes. She was not looking forward to telling them what their prince had decided on.   
  
On the fifth day of waiting for the arrival of Odysseus, Eudorus had grown impatient. He sat on the edge of his ship, his legs dangling over the side, staring at the sea. He often did this, sometimes for hours on end--his men would have to nudge him back to reality; it was a habit he had formed as a boy and he knew he would never stop marveling at the vastness of the waves. But now there were no men to clear their throats or touch him lightly on the shoulder--they had remained in the town drinking and bedding woman after woman. Eudorus had no desire for any of it. He wanted to speak with Odysseus, he wanted to know the fate of his master Achilles.   
  
In the back of his mind was the image of the smoke rising from the Trojan ships. Where were they docked? Something about it irritated him--had he seen figures on the horizon? A sentry perhaps? Had he simply wanted to see them? He hated the thought of imagining a battle, seeking out violence when his master had commanded him to return home. But Achilles was no longer his master, Eudorus thought sadly, but within the sadness was anxiety--they were his men now to command as he wished. Eudorus looked over his shoulder at the cliffs lining the coast--somewhere beyond those jagged rocks lay another adventure. He thought about the men, about the families and duties they had back home and wondered if it was worth the risk. They had missed the sacking of Troy, they had missed a final opportunity for glory. Eudorus rose, sighing as he turned toward the town proper; Odysseus would have to wait. 


	3. 3

Author: Sabine Hawks & Alma Aciginada   
Rating: R   
Characters: All of the major characters left alive at the end of the film and a few new ones   
Feedback: Yes, please!   
  
(3)  
It was late in the day when the last of the Trojans crossed into distinctly foreign territory. Paris knew that this land they now stood upon had been disputed for decades--who rightfully owned this area had never truly been decided. Priam had often boasted that it was his, and still tribes moving in from Persia had insisted on claiming it for their own...yet only one group had consistently controlled the mouth of the river recently: the Amazons. Paris had never seen an Amazon but the stories were enough--despite his proud words to Briseis, he did in fact fear the powerful women that defended this territory. He had no intention of questioning their skills as warriors for he had seen with his own eyes the peasants that occasionally stumbled into Troy hysterical with stories of fearless women riding them into the grass. Paris knew, however, that their chances of garnering sympathy from the women was better than their chances in a town; the war was still too near and Greeks would be swarming the area with news of Troy's defeat beginning to spread. It would be a risk entering this country, but it was a risk they needed to take.   
  
The land was growing hilly and in the steady heat of mid-day the group was slow and clumsy. Andromache lagged behind, her son wrapped heavily to protect him from the sun--Aeneas walked at her side, refusing to leave her and the baby unattended. Paris was the first to reach the top of the hill that truly signified they had left Trojan lands; ahead lay a sprawling and rich forest that hid the river from their view. He could hear the trickling of water and he knew that the group had earned a rest.   
  
"The river is close now, we can stop to relax for a few hours there, but a few hours is all that we can afford," Paris shouted over his shoulder, his breathing shallow from the effort it had taken to climb the hill. He waited for the others, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead--so far there was no sign of civilization, no sign of any human life. Briseis came to stand beside him.   
  
"It is beautiful here, and yet there is danger, cousin."   
  
"Yes," Paris touched her shoulder gently, "but we do not have any other options. I would not lead us straight into a port city crawling with Greeks still thirsty for Trojan blood. We must stay in the wild, cousin, or we will surely be discovered."   
  
Briseis nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. She reached up, binding her hair up with a piece of ragged cloth. She thought of the incredible change that he had undergone in a matter of days--Paris had become more of a man in that week than in all of his life. The frivolity and impulsiveness she had once thought ruled his actions were gone, replaced with a resolve to protect the last of his kind. She had predicted that he would hide behind Helen and use her for strength but the two of them had barely shared a moment during the walk--Briseis wondered if Paris, like herself, felt the absence of Hector more than ever. Though he would not admit it, Briseis suspected that a small part of Paris felt Helen was responsible for the loss of the dear prince.   
  
"I will be thankful for a bath," Briseis took Paris' hand from her shoulder and squeezed it, "we shall all be thankful for a moment's rest."   
  
When the others reached the top of the hill Paris allowed them several minutes to catch their breath for the last bit of that day's journey. He walked among them, making sure the women were not too weak to go on, ensuring that the children were not too hot or too tired. Andromache was without complaint although Paris could sense the fatigue and sorrow that she kept so skillfully hidden.   
  
"Soon, sister, soon we can rest," Paris reassured her, touching his nephew's forehead. Andromache mustered a small smile for him and he was satisfied with this. Without a word, Paris strode to the head of the Trojans and led them down toward the river.   
  
Although it was not a great distance away, the sun had begun to set when they reached the banks of the river. Briseis tossed herself in without hesitation, scrubbing at her hair furiously. Helen was not far behind, nor Aeneas, but Paris stayed on the shore with Andromache as she unwrapped Scamandrias and bathed him with one hand. Paris watched the women reveling in the cool water, relief showing on their features for the first time in many days.   
  
"You are doing well, Paris, I will admit that this plan is bold but I could not imagine a Trojan doing it any other way," Andromache grinned, watching as her son giggled with pleasure from the soothing water. Paris felt himself flush and he looked at the ground for guidance, "You are too kind, sister, I do not deserve your praise. Please, save it until you are all safe and happy."   
  
"Safety we will find, but happiness is another matter entirely."   
  
"Yes, I doubt any of us will know such happiness as we once did."   
  
Andromache reached up and touched his cheek with her wet hand; her eyes spoke of the horrors that they had each endured but there was a glimmer of hope, "Though I agree, I hope you are wrong, young prince."   
  
Paris stood, shedding his scuffed armor with a labored sigh; his shoulders screamed with pain. He piled his belongings on the banks of the river, leaving his bow on top before diving into the water with a cloth wrapped around his waist.   
  
"Paris! Paris look what I have for you!"   
  
The prince turned and found Helen wading toward him; her smile made his heart flutter within his chest. She held out a ripe yellow fruit to him, in her other hand was one that she had already begun devouring; the juices ran from her lips.   
  
"They are sweet, I found them on the opposite side of the..."   
  
Helen screamed as an arrow head exploded through the end of the fruit. Paris flung himself onto land, scrambling to pick up his bow but he was without a target--suddenly the entire forest surrounding them was his enemy. Helen scrambled onto the banks beside him, still clutching the skewered fruit; Andromache knelt at her brother in law's feet.   
  
"Well isn't this a joyful gathering?" the voice, tipped with mockery, seemed to come from the very leaves.   
  
"Show yourself," Paris shouted, turning wildly, searching for the archer.   
  
"It is unwise to make demands of an enemy you cannot see," a shadow emerged from the thick forest, followed by many others, "especially when you command a mighty army of two."   
  
Paris glanced over his shoulder at young Aeneas, who now wielded the sword of Troy in nothing but a leather kilt. The shadow approached Paris slowly, a bow in one hand, the other reaching up to pull off the cowl that concealed their face. The prince was surprised to find the source of such a voice was a young woman. Her garments were simple and functional but she wore a few beaded bracelets and her arms and face had been painted with intricate designs. The softness in her features was unlike the severe faces of the women he knew. Shadows now emerged from the opposite side of the river and all around them and as they removed their hoods they were all revealed to be women. But these were not the brutish warriors described to him by court story tellers--no, they were women such as he would see walking in the streets of Troy.   
  
"Lower your bow or I will give you another demonstration of my skill, and this time I will not be aiming for fruit," two dark eyes shifted to regard Helen, who shook with fear behind Paris. The prince could think of no response and knew that they were gravely outnumbered; he lowered his weapon.   
  
"You stomp onto our land, bathe in our river and eat our fruit all without introducing yourselves?" she ran a hand through her short hair and Paris noticed the muscles straining in her forearm, "Such courtesy is rarely seen."   
  
"Please!"   
  
Paris was nearly knocked down as Andromache launched herself forward, prostrate at the girl's feet, "I have a son, we are not fighters, we are women and children, old men, refugees! Please have mercy! We have been walking for days, we are tired and hot, we did not mean to show disrespect."   
  
The archer stepped forward to a chorus of a soft snickers, looking down at the widow of Hector, "How predictable: A woman is the only vessel of reason among you." She was quiet for a moment, gazing at Andromache and her son, "You are Trojans no doubt. The burning can be seen even from here. If we allow you shelter we put ourselves at great risk...if you were followed the Greeks will raid our city and yet another civilization will be destroyed because of Trojan foolishness."   
  
"You speak with reason," Paris ventured, earning a searing look from the Amazon, "but if Greeks were at our heels they would have killed us days ago. They would not hesitate to murder a prince of Troy."   
  
A soft murmur rose from the Amazons but the archer ignored it.   
  
"Do you think that impresses me, Trojan?" the woman replied, rounding on Paris, "Such titles mean nothing in this land, in this land respect is not handed to you from your birth, it is earned. It is not a life of jewels and glory--I doubt you would find our accommodations up to your impossible standards." She raised her chin, looking down her nose at Paris with as much disgust as she could manage, "But I do pity these women, these mothers that you drag across the countryside without food or proper protection. I am surprised you even made it this far without being hunted down by Agamemnon and his war-crazed soldiers."   
  
"Agamemnon is dead," Briseis spoke up, pushing her way past Paris, "I killed him. With this right hand I killed him."   
  
"Even if that is true, no one will ever hear of it, no man would ever admit that a woman bested their king," the Amazon shrugged, turning back to the forest. She rubbed at her chin for a moment, glancing at the sky before looking to Paris, "Tell me your name, prince, and you will have our protection and hospitality for as long as we see fit."   
  
Paris breathed deeply with relief, but noticed the dissatisfaction her comment had caused among the other Amazons and nodded his head respectfully toward the woman.   
  
"My name is Paris, son of Priam, King of Troy."   
  
One of the Amazons had brought forth a sleek white horse from the trees; the Amazon leader took the reigns and swung onto its back effortlessly. She looked down at Paris and a flicker of a smile past over her features, "I am Accalia, a _princess_ of the Amazons. Be grateful for your women, Prince Paris, they have put a roof over your head." 


	4. 4

Author: Sabine Hawks & Alma Aciginada   
Rating: R   
Characters: All of the major characters left alive at the end of the film and a few new ones   
Feedback: Yes, please!   
  
(4)  
The smell of cinder was still heavy in the air. It seemed to follow the fleet of Spartan ships regardless of the distance they'd traveled thus far. Odysseus shouted orders half-heartedly to his crew. They took pity on their beloved king. He had lost the greatest friend he had ever known. Achilles death was an end to an era of conquest.   
  
A warm wind pushed the ships farther into the Aegean, but Odysseus took no notice. He had mixed feelings about his future. He believed that he should be glad to have Ithaca returned to him, but it had been nearly five years since he had ruled his own people. He was not as confident as he once was. There was no doubt Ithacans loathed their new ruler, but would they be willing to accept the return of a king who had succumbed to Agamemnon's army so quickly.   
  
"Athena goddess, grant me solitude," he whispered to the wind.   
  
"We will dock at Lesvos this evening," he shouted, turning to his men.   
  
"Prepare your things. I wish to have some rest for a few days."   
  
His crew exchanged glances, but did not question their king. Each was eager to return home. Only Odysseus dreaded it. Penelope had ceased writing to him while he was away. The last letter he had received from his wife had been nothing more than a guilt trip. Rumors of her infidelity had spread far, making him a laughing stock; he beat his fist against a beam, and quickly disappeared into his quarters below. He was never a man for tears, but no amount of strength would hold them back now.   
  
Eudorus noticed the flames were beginning to reach the outskirts of the kingdom. The soldiers stationed there would soon have to move on. A figure was approaching fast. Eudorus recognized Cadmus atop a Trojan horse almost immediately. The latter looked as though he had received terrible news, and Eudorus felt a shiver run up his spine.   
  
"My lord," said Cadmus, straining through shallow breaths. "I regret being the bearer of bad tidings…" He stopped short seeing the look of horror on Eudorus' face.   
  
"Achilles," he said, his voice cracking as he tried to hold on desperately to his dignity.   
  
"Dead, my lord. Several arrows were shot into his body."   
  
Eudorus felt as though he'd suddenly swallowed a boulder. His heart was heavy with turmoil. "The Lord Odysseus performed the ceremonial rights of passing five mornings ago before he took sail."   
  
"Damnit!" he cursed, unable to control the urge to cry. "Achilles is dead and Odysseus is gone. I curse the day I set foot in this ungodly land. Who did this, Cadmus? Who is responsible for his death?"   
  
"It is unknown. All heads of royalty have been accounted for... all but four."   
  
Eudorus looked up with anger and hope.   
  
"The Prince Paris, the Princess Andromache and Hector's son, along with their young priestess cousin."   
  
"Where have they gone?" Eudorus could feel the blood in his veins beginning to boil. He was certain of the priestess' betrayal, and once he got his hands on her he would squeeze the life out of her.   
  
"No one can say, my lord, but there is a river that lies on the boarder of Troy surrounded by a vast forest, it is near to where you spotted the figures and there is also a river-–they may attempt to escape by water."   
  
Eudorus' eyes lit up. It had not been an illusion after all. There had been survivors, and he was willing to bet his life that amongst them were the missing figureheads. He was already imagining himself slaying them all. Having been reared so far from Troy, they had heard only snippets of the stories of Amazons. In Greece they were referred to as Aresians, giants of the hunt, but no one believed such creatures truly existed. Furthermore, it was never known where they were thought to reside.   
  
"Round up the men," he said, his voice on the edge of breaking. "We will follow them south to this river, and if I have to burn the entirety of the forest down, I will."   
  
Eudorus had the taste of blood in his mouth. As far as he was concerned, Troy was not defeated until every royal head had been decapitated.   
  
Andromache was unaware of her fatigue as they entered the Amazon city, and she was shocked to find that it was indeed a city. A lane sheltered on each side by forest met with a high wooden wall fortified at the bottom with roughly formed mud bricks. In the twilight it was difficult to make out the exact positioning of the wall and no torches could be seen. The princess Accalia rode at the head of their group and she let out a high whistle as they approached the gate-–a moment later the center of the wall creaked and shuddered before dropping away. The Amazons that had accompanied the group waited outside until the Trojans had entered the city and joined at the flank. Andromache held her son close to her chest, still suspicious of the Amazons and their customs. So far, however, she had been treated kindly by the women, who complimented her on the fine form of her baby and praised her strength for coming so far.   
  
"Welcome to Theoris, the first city of sisters," Accalia announced with pride, dismounting her horse and handing the reigns to a young girl. She patted the girl on the back before turning to face the Trojans.   
  
"You are in my city now and under my protection," Accalia pulled the cowl from her shoulders and loosened the bracers on her wrists, "Laksha will show you to the far end of the city where you will be fed and tomorrow you will meet with my mother."   
  
The princess handed the rest of her things to the girl, who Andromache assumed was her page, and heard the girl murmur "the goddess be with you, princess" before Accalia had turned to go. She did not give the Trojans a second glance and Andromache watched her disappear by the light of the torches.   
  
"This way," Laksha, who was much taller than the princess and of darker skin, led them deeper into the city, past large fires with animals roasting on spits and low huts made of mud and thatch. Andromache noticed that despite the late hour there were women everywhere–-she had expected to see them hunched over their fires, their backs to the strangers, but instead they congregated in groups of twos and threes, laughing loudly and waving to Laksha. They watched the Trojans with great interest, especially Paris, who was eyed with both hunger and suspicion. It was odd to see a place so full of laughter; Andromache had grown accustomed to funerals and half-hearted celebrations but these women danced and sang together with all of their hearts. It was odd, yes, but also refreshing. She noticed Paris, and saw the way Helen clung to him, one hand of her hands tangled nervously in her hair. Andromache started at the sound of male laughter across the broad road that led through the city, she looked to find an older but very strong-looking man sitting at a fire with several women, all were discoursing happily. Laksha saw Andromache's confusion.   
  
"I'm sure you're disappointed to find that we are not rapists and murderers," Laksha said, smiling, "that is Talmai, he is Accalia's archery master, an Athenian that chose to stay after he had earned his freedom."   
  
"Earned his freedom?"   
  
"Yes, he was taken captive in a raid, he was given the opportunity to teach archery and when he had served enough time we gave him the option to return home," Laksha waved back as Talmai noticed the group and raised his hand in greeting, "But what man would forsake a leisurely life of archery during the day and sex during the night for the drudgery of home? What man would turn away from absolute freedom?"   
  
Andromache was struck silent by the explanation and looked down at her son, who slept peacefully in her arms. Laksha stopped before a good-sized lodge and held open the cloth flap that served as a door, "You may all rest here, we will bring you food shortly."   
  
Odysseus wondered if it were possible to drown himself inside his wine goblet. He wasn't drunk yet but he was hoping to change that and the barman, eager for stories from Troy, refilled the warrior's cup at each sighting of the bottom. Odysseus had no idea where his men were and didn't actually care, but the king inside of him nagged and nagged. He glanced around the tavern, wondering how he, the King of Ithaca, had come to be in such a wretched place. Eudorus had left messages for him at nearly every tavern in the town and each begged him to stay until he returned form an urgent errand. The humidity was making his head spin and he mumbled something to the barkeep, raising himself from the stool before stumbling out of the tavern.   
  
He inhaled the sea air greedily. He loved the coast, it wasn't as rough as the water but had its smell and feel. The tavern might have been nice if not for the unsavory patrons, it was set at the very edge of the port where the cliffs fell away to the sea; it was a clear night and the moon lit up the city with the help of the stars. Odysseus felt himself sobering up as he navigated his way over to the edge of the cliff where he set himself down on the cool stone and thought about his home. Penelope. His beautiful wife, their darling son-–all of it was somewhere in the distance. The thought of another man touching his wife made his hands curl into fists...how could she do that to him? To them?   
  
"A heavy heart after a great victory? I expected you to be celebrating."   
  
Odysseus looked over his shoulder indifferently, finding a robed figure set against the milkiness of the moon. He shivered and was suddenly cold.   
  
"Who are you?"   
  
"A wanderer, some would call me a seer and still others a fraud."   
  
"Which one is it?" Odysseus had met enough prophets in his day to know that most were trouble and best left to themselves. When alone, crazies could hurt only themselves. The stranger stood beside him, looking down with a smile hidden behind her veil. Odysseus returned her gaze and found he could only distinguish two burning green eyes.   
  
"I would have you decide that."   
  
Her light linen robes lifted with the breeze; Odysseus ran a hand over his grizzled beard, knowing that he did not have the patience for such games. He stood, hoping to use his height to frighten her away but the stranger did not move.   
  
"What do you want?"   
  
"I want you to help your friend."   
  
"My friend?"   
  
"Yes. The warrior Eudorus, he is in great danger."   
  
"And how do you know this?" Odysseus could not hide his mistrust.   
  
"He left here days ago but he does not know the country he travels in, he does not know that he is riding directly into a bed of serpents."   
  
"And what would you have me do about it?"   
  
"Help him, if you do not, he will parish at the hands of your enemies."   
  
"What if you are leading me into a trap, too, seer? What if your predictions are nothing more than a scheme to deliver me to my death for some grand price?" Odysseus grabbed at her throat and held her firmly. The woman did not struggle or fight him.   
  
"I will go with you, I will be at your mercy-–I am no match for a warrior of your stature, I have only my visions," she held his gaze, gently curling her fingers around his wrist. Odysseus did nothing. "Are you really in such a rush to return home to a wife that would love another man before your very son's eyes?"   
  
Odysseus tightened his grip, his handsome face twisting into a snarl and still the woman did not falter, "How do you know these things? Is this the product of rumor?"   
  
"No, King, it is a truth I regret to reveal. Even now, in the bed you made of a fine tree she entertains a man that is not you, she whispers that you are dead, that she will soon have to take another husband," she felt his grip relax and he dropped her, his hands covering his face in despair.   
  
The seer saw her chance.   
  
"Help Eudorus, do not rush home or even greater horrors will befall you," she stepped away from him, "meet me at the entrance to the town and first light and I will take you to your destiny." 


	5. 5

  
Author: Sabine Hawks & Alma Aciginada  
Rating: R  
Characters: All of the major characters left alive at the end of the film and a few new ones  
Feedback: Yes, please!   
  
(5)  
The weary travelers were grateful to rest their sore feet by the roaring bonfire created by the Amazon women waiting on them. Laksha served them heaping plates of roasted sweet meats and honey-glazed fruits. They had even sent someone to milk one of their goats in order to feed Scamandrius and three of the other smaller children. Several of the older Trojans had been shown to comfortable cots where bath water awaited them. Andromache was sitting with a group of Amazon women who were showing her the designs on their individual shields, which they had carved themselves.   
  
"So intricate and beautiful," she said, somewhat skeptical of their skills.   
  
Paris had been watching Talmai with a keen eye. The Amazons' prized slave – for he could see Talmai as nothing else – had been observing every move of Helen's. Helen sat beside a drowsy Briseis, combing her blonde locks with a comb made of ivory. She seemed unaware of the stranger's attentions. He could now understand Menelaus' jealousy. Be a man blind, he would still find himself enraptured by her beauty.   
  
"So this is the great Helen of Sparta," said a voice from behind him. He turned to see Accalia standing before him, her eyes set on his bride. Her tribe raised their cups to her, and she offered a nod in return. Paris glanced over at Aeneas. Though the young man was sitting a good distance across from him, he could see the doubtful look on his face. The Amazons had not taken the sword of Troy, nor would Paris have been willing to hand it over. Aeneas seemed comfortable with the weapon at his side. It seemed to suit him better than it had Paris.   
  
"She is no longer of Sparta," said Paris on the defense.   
  
"Nor is she of Troy now that there is nothing left of it."   
  
The words stung Paris like a million wasps. "You are forgetting that I am still alive, and so long as I am alive Troy..."   
  
"Has no chance," Accalia finally looked down at Paris with burning eyes. A faint smirk played on her lips, "Your reputation will follow you everywhere, boy king."   
  
"What reputation is that?" At this point, the conversation had reached the ears of Briseis and Helen who sat nearby. Both listened intently without a word.   
  
"You have given the legendary sword of Troy to a boy who in his life has held nothing more than a butter knife, but it was not this weapon that failed you when you in Troy...it was your own cowardice."   
  
"How dare you!" Briseis snapped, rising fully alert to her feet. Paris stood up, blocking the gap between them. "You hide from all civilization under the protection of King Priam, and you dare mock his son?"   
  
"Cousin!" Paris held his hand towards Briseis in request of her silence.   
  
"Cousin?" Accalia cocked one eyebrow in amusement. Her smirk spread into a grin that exposed fine white teeth. She analyzed Briseis carefully, as if trying to discern whether or not the priestess could be trusted, "So you _are_ the priestess of Apollo who killed the king of all Greece."   
  
Silence fell over the camp. Both Trojan and Amazons alike rest their eyes on Briseis.   
  
"With this very hand," she held up the hand that had stabbed Agamemnon. Her breathing was shallow with fury. "And I shall use it again if I must."   
  
Accalia let out a heart laugh. "You would fit in well amongst us, Priestess."   
  
"Briseis, please," Paris begged in a hoarse whisper. He turned to Accalia. He could smell the scent of burnt musk on the Amazon princess' skin. It was rather intoxicating, most likely an aphrodisiac used to entice men. Now that he had caught wind of it, he noticed the air was heavy with the smell as if all the Amazons had bathed in it. They had not smelled of it when he had first arrived. It made him uncomfortable and more aware of his surroundings.   
  
"My cousin means no harm. She has seen too much death, as have we all." Briseis slowly fell in a heap at Helen's side.   
  
"Now... that is more like what I expect of a king of Troy," said Accalia. She gave Briseis one last glance before turning to walk away. The unusual scent trailed behind her. Paris wanted nothing more than to follow its origin, but there were broken hearts to tend to, and he had to keep a clear head about him.   
  
.  
  
Accalia smiled to herself in the cool night; the Trojans were proving to be more than a little amusing. She lifted the flap to her house and went in, sucking in her breath as she noticed someone sitting on the floor mats.   
  
"Why do you torture them so?"   
  
"Talmai, I have not had the pleasure of your company for some time," Accalia was both relieved and unnerved to find the older man in her house at that time of night. Although Accalia was not ignorant of Talmai's good looks, she strived to make their relationship professional-–it would be in her best interest to keep her archery master happy and avoid the complications that came with romances.   
  
"Answer my question, Accalia," Talmai rose, his head nearly touching the low ceiling. He was one of the few people and the only man in the city that could get away with calling her by her first name. Accalia poured herself a cup of wine and turned to face her teacher.   
  
"My behavior toward the Trojans is my own business, and I fail to see how such things require your attention," she sipped slowly, her eyes still focused on the man, "Although I did not fail to see you watching that Spartan whore like a hawk. Does she interest you, Talmai? Would you bed every woman of this city and its guests?"   
  
"Watch your tongue, Accalia, others may tolerate your attitude but I will not."   
  
"It's just as well, she's obsessed with that prince."   
  
Talmai grinned, reading his student well, "Really? Well, I think that prince interests you, princess. Dagali tells me that he has the finest body she has ever seen on a man. Deny it, Accalia, deny that you find him handsome."   
  
"And what does attraction mean? Nothing. You of all people should know the superficiality of lust. Why do you waste my time with this talk, Talmai? I think you mean to embarrass me, but there is a kind of mischief in your look that concerns me."   
  
"Only that you clearly have interest in the prince and I in his bride, we could stand to benefit from an alliance of sorts," Talmai took the cup from her and dipped his finger into its contents, smiling wickedly as he licked the wine from his skin.   
  
"You would have me steal him away from his wife?"   
  
"Not exactly–-I just need time, Accalia, time enough to make my impression."   
  
"I will pretend that was metaphorical," Accalia rolled her eyes, snatching the cup from him, "You are a shrewd and dangerous man, Talmai, and I hope never to be your enemy nor the target of your affections."   
  
"Then you will help me?" Talmai grinned, watching his student prepare herself for sleep.   
  
"Only because I do not like that woman Helen, not at all. She would love that prince only to fill some romantic ideal, to bring attention to herself and convince him that the loss of his city and of his brother was worth her love. Sadly, I do not think you will have trouble wooing her from Paris, and though it will break his heart he must learn that his beauty is his greatest curse."   
  
.  
  
It was not yet dawn when Accalia was roused by three frantic women from the watch. She stumbled to her door, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and pulling on a robe. Dagali and two other trusted soldiers waited for her, fully armed.   
  
"Princess," Dagali bowed her head respectfully, "forgive our intrusion but there is a party of men approaching, they are armed and on foot. They left their horses tethered at the river--we think they mean to attack."   
  
"Wake my mother, secure the Trojans and have that boy Paris brought to the gates. I will take to the forest and return with orders for you," Accalia did not wait for their salute but rather shut the flap to her house and reached for the armor that was always waiting faithfully by the door. She slipped on the leather chest plate over her coarse top and tied her skirts on with sloppy knots. After splashing her face with water from a basin, she tied a patterned piece of fabric over her hair. Her bow, quiver, hunting knife, bracers and archery glove came next but she paused before leaving, kneeling at the small alter in her house she said a prayer; dipping her damp fingers into the bowl of crushed red powder she dragged her hand across her face.   
  
Her page waited outside with her horse and Accalia mounted quickly, securing her quiver even as she kicked the steed forward. The town was in a fury, the households had been woken up and women were running here and there, arming themselves or scurrying toward the temple that had been built at the rear of the city. Accalia thundered down the main road, keeping her eyes open for Paris or any of the other Trojans. The Greeks. It was certainly the Greeks that approached the city now and meant to attack. Accalia did not want to fear but she had heard stories of their bravery and the Trojans the Amazons now protected left no room for negotiations.   
  
When the princess reached the gates she dismounted, running into the thick forest that met with the walls. The pounding in her chest was deafening; she entered the waking woods, creeping close to the floor and keeping to the makeshift paths she knew wound behind the thickest trees. It was nearly half a mile before she caught sight of the Greeks–-they were dressed for battle and there were at least a dozen of them if not more. To Accalia it was clear that they were not amateurs, the liquid way they moved was indicative of their skill. She sprinted back to the gates.   
  
Paris was waiting for her in his magnificent armor, his bow at the ready. Accalia's stern impression told him all that he needed to know. He said nothing and watched as the princess strode to a group of women that stood waiting for orders. Accalia separated from them and one fled into the forest while the others dispersed into the camp.   
  
"I take it you know how to use that thing," Accalia nodded toward the bow that Paris clutched. Paris grinned, "This was the bow that slay Achilles, the Greek that most said was invincible. The warrior that killed my brother. When I shoot, I do not miss."   
  
"Good, there are Greeks out there right now but there won't be much aiming involved. Still, we need every archer available," Accalia glanced past him, watching as the Amazon women lined up, each holding a finely crafted bow. Paris was fascinated by their discipline, the city had already been evacuated to its rear temple that was very defendable–-Aeneas waited there with the sword of Troy. Accalia stepped forward, raising her hand for silence.   
  
"Archers at the ready, aim over the walls, about fifty yards out. We will give these Greeks a volley of night arrows. They sneak toward us in the night like cowardly cats–-if they will give us no warning than we shall return the favor. There are men approaching, at least a dozen but they will not reach the city, they will not even get a good look at the mighty walls of Theoris," Accalia then turned away from them, waiting for the signal. Paris turned to look at the archer beside him, a young woman of no more than fifteen.   
  
"Does she lead you?" Paris whispered.   
  
"She is our princess, the Night Arrow, she will always lead us," the girl replied serenely, a brilliant blue hand-print shining on her cheek in the half-light.   
  
Despite his growing anxiety, Paris felt comforted by the young woman who stood fearlessly waiting for Accalia's orders. It was then that Accalia's hand raised again and the women nocked their arrows, taking aim high and far. Paris did the same. A tense moment past as they waited for the signal and then the softest of birds could be heard in the distance–-a sound that Paris barely heard but that sent Accalia's arm down sharply. They loosed their arrows.   
  
The Amazons and Paris waited, their arrows singing through the darkness, rising high before falling with deadly accuracy. It was silent as they traveled over the walls but seconds later they heard the soft pattering as at least thirty arrows peppered the ground–-and humans. The screams were loud, surprised, and soon a clear voice emerged giving commands but Paris could not focus on it, Accalia had raised her arm again.   
  
"Quickly, another!" her arm fell and the arrows sprang over the walls again. Accalia ran to the gates, grabbing the reigns of her horse before returning, she looked to Paris, "Lead them, prince, give two more volleys and when you hear my voice over those walls you stop."   
  
Paris had little time to process the weighty honor the princess had just given him–-he instead stepped forward to command the Amazon archers while Accalia disappeared into the forest on her horse. The princess had navigated these trees hundreds of times, she knew their every branch and leaf; the cries of agony were growing louder. Soon she was upon Dagali, who sat crouched in the forest watching the carnage. The Greeks, or what was left of them, had fanned out to maximize their chances of avoiding the arrows. The archers had taken out most of the soldiers and only five remained on the field. Apparently their leader was bold enough to continue pressing toward the Amazon gates; Accalia admired his bravery only briefly. She steadied her mount, drawing an arrow back before releasing it into the chest of one of the nearby Greeks. He collapsed, an arrow stuck in his throat. The leader of the Greeks noticed and paused but he had no chance to assess the situation as another wave of arrows flew over the gates towards them. Paris must have compensated for the enemy's progress, for the arrows were dropping down closer to the city's walls. Accalia smiled, watching as the arrows annihilated all but two of the Greeks. She nudged her horse forward out of the forest and gave a wild cry that filled the night, overpowering the painful groans of the wounded warriors. The leader of the Greeks turned to see her, his blue eyes visible even in the thick darkness.   
  
Accalia rode towards him, Amazons emerging from the opposite side of the field before the gates, their bows drawn. The other Greek looked around in confusion, deciding whether or not to raise his hands in surrender. The leader, however, had made his decision and hurled a javelin at Accalia–-she cried out as the javelin impaled her mount through the chest. As her horse's cry erupted, she jumped with feline grace from the horse and landed with a roll on the ground. The leader was still running toward her and picking up speed. Accalia steadied her thundering heart, pulling the bow from her back she aimed over his shoulder and the Greek stopped as his last soldier was hit and fell to the ground. 


End file.
